Disclaimer: I don't own anything but a very volatile Muse. I... created this fiction... for entertaining purposes (only)...Nobody (like me) could be that clever (to know how to make this make money).
No reindeer were harmed and no Sherlock's limbs moved during the creation of this fic.
English is not my native language so please be critical and let me know about any mistakes or weird formulations that'd punch you in the eye. Thank you :)
- For T. -
No cases. Boring. Dull. Tedious. Mundane. Sherlock was lying on his favourite sofa, staring at the ceiling and occupying his genius by creating as many synonyms to describe the state he was stuck in as he could think of. This kept him busy for about ten seconds. Then even the few promising sparks of distraction went out.
On his search for any yet untried activity that he could conduct without moving anything but his eyes, Sherlock noticed John sitting on the cosy chair across the table. He'd totally forgotten about his presence. Even after one year of flat-sharing it still always struck him to realise he wasn't the only one in the room. For such a compulsive loner as Sherlock was, forgetting to be irritated by someone's companion was a rather peculiar habit.
John seemed to be fully engaged with the laptop on his knees, eyes shining, cheeks glowing, the doctor himself wearing his new red-white sweater with reindeer and small babbles hanging from its random parts. It was a present from Miss Hudson and even though John pretended to wear it only because he didn't want to upset her one week before Christmas, he seemed to be developing some ambivalent sentimental fixation to it.
Sherlock gave a great yawn.
Just as he started pondering if his flat-mate could bring him out of his boredom in any way, the latter looked up at Sherlock, clasped his hands together and laughed out sharply.
"I've found it! Now they're not going to talk anymore!"
Sherlock raised one eyebrow.
"People, Sherlock! And if they are, they'll use the right term for it!"
Sherlock raised the second eyebrow as well. When the brilliant brain didn't seem to see the point in what John was rejoicing in, it was time for reading out.
"Listen what Wikipedia's got to say: 'A bromance is a close non-sexual relationship between two or more men, a form of homosocial intimacy.' Now this definition might do."
"You aren't at those parts of Internet again, are you?"
"There usually isn't any bromance on RedTube," John objected.
Sherlock's eyes would turn to the ceiling if their owner were in a proper vertical position at the moment – but since he wasn't, he only ended up gazing at the telly, which wasn't a very comforting sight, rather a distracting and emotions-stirring one, even though it wasn't turned on. Therefore, Sherlock simply shut his eyes close.
"I didn't mean porn, John, I meant the F-site."
John's ears turned red and Sherlock opened his eyes for a second, only to reassure himself of this happening.
"Of course you arethere," he continued. "If my calculations are right, at this moment you have spent about two hours on it again."
A short silence. Then – a betraying giggle.
"How pathetic," grunted Sherlock and stirred on his sofa a bit. The doctor ignored the last remark ostentatiously and drew his attention back to the laptop. Tap – tap – tap. Judging by the vertical wrinkle on John's forehead and the slow rhythm of his round fingers hitting the keyboard, another blog entry was just being created.
How did we get here? Sherlock wondered wearily. It had all started so innocently. Two weeks ago, Sherlock had caught John chuckling at something on the screen of his laptop and mumbling "out of character" from his sleep at the night after that. Naturally, Sherlock couldn't have resisted the urge and as soon as the then on-going case had been solved, he had stolen John's laptop unscrupulously and even lowered himself to going through the Google Chrome history, just to find there a link to a list of M-rated stories tagged as Johnlock.
It had taken them both some time to get over this and to stop thinking in double entendres, but once they'd finally managed to do so, there had been this incident with a fic called Alone on the Water which had ended up with John hysterically forcing Sherlock into a cab and escorting him to Bart's for a preventive check up for brain cancer. Since then, Sherlock couldn't get rid of the unpleasant sensation of being observed carefully by John whenever the doctor thought his friend wasn't watching.
And now – this. It was going a bit too far, indeed.
A vivid, picturesque image niggled at the back of Sherlock's mind: John, clicking on the "Submit entry" button, chortling victoriously and reading out to his flatmate: "Thus said the Doctor; the Doctor of Sherlock: Behold, our faithful fans, bromance is the new canon."
The detective couldn't bear it anymore.
"Do you really think it'll help?" he asked the real John as indifferently as he was capable to, eyes closed.
The tapping stopped for a while. Sherlock draw air into his lungs and started explaining.
"Do you think it'll be of any use to tell them this is a bromance? People will talk anyway. They'll even see it as another track of denial and it might actually make things worse. You'll only bring the issue to the fore."
– "But we could try at least!" John interrupted him. "How could this get so much worse? It would be a worth-while experiment!"
Sherlock ignored John's purposeful use of a word he knew the detective would consider as attractive and continued.
"Being treated as gay can even be practical. We've got more light at the dinners because they always light up candles for us. We can get cheaper accommodation since they reckon us to need one bed only. And most importantly, few people dare to disturb us when we're after a case together, so I can think uninterruptedly since I don't mind your presence as much as the of the dull others.
"Furthermore, what if I like it the way it is? What if I want things to stay as they are?"
Sherlock looked up at John's face which was shaped more or less exactly into the form of a big sarcastic "What?". John blinked and slowly regained his speech facilities.
"You mean you want people to think we're both non-confessed gays, secretly in love with each other and when out of sight, doing all the – the things the cheap fanfiction stories stick to?"
"John, you enjoy this play yourself, and you really are stuck in denial. It's obvious."
"If it weren't as I say, you wouldn't go to those parts of Internet."
Now there was no point in arguing. John didn't have to say a word; he simply held the backspace button pressed (with his hand completely steady) – and this gesture said it all for him.
Let's hope he'll never discover Tumblr, Sherlock thought.
A/N: (That's what authors do, isn't it? Leave a note.) Sherlock and John were arguing in my head and I could stop them only by putting their words on the paper. I think I know where this came from but I'm not sure I know where it has been going to. Please, criticise me and tear me into pieces!